Pygmalion's Icarus
by Eos Blaze 0402
Summary: He looks like her lost love in the light of the sun, and behaves like him when the shadows return. Her father once made her wings to fly away from the sinister labyrinth, but those wings lie in ruin, burned when she flew too close to the sun. This is a tale of love? A story about Elena and Damon...
1. Chapter 1

_**Italics is past.**_

* * *

 _ **Aster, once as morning star light on the living you shed,**_

 _ **Now, dying as evening star, you shine among the dead…**_

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

She doesn't scream when she falls from the sky, she just stares at the sun to which she flew so close. The drops of melting wax run in slow rivulets down her back. It burns, it hurts, but she doesn't scream. She just stares at her father, the man who's trying to control his wings, trying to fly after her to save her from her imminent death.

Has he forgotten?

That she can't die?

That his wife had a dalliance with a strange man—a man masked who took a promise from her to not see his face—before she married him. A man who rules underworld and is seldom invited to Olympus.

Has her father forgotten that her veins don't carry his blood but a god's ichor?

That she, Elena, is the daughter of a god?

She closes her eyes and refuses to cry even when she thinks she can hear her father scream her name over the wind. She will not die, she knows.

He has to live.

He can't go back to the labyrinth.

He just can't.

* * *

When she opens her eyes, she notices that she is inside a modest hut, laid over a bed of something soft. Her body hurts so bad that even the throbbing from the wounds that wax left on her back is not noticeable.

Has she been saved?

Or is she dreaming, still lying broken and golden in some field?

She tries to turn, but finds that her body doesn't obey her at all.

How long will she remain like this?

And where is she? On whose mercy? Who has witnessed gold seeping out of her injuries, betraying her secret?

'Oh, you're awake!'

She is definitely dreaming, for she has dreamt about this voice so many times.

She is scared to look at his face, so before he comes in her line of sight, she closes her eyes tightly.

'Who did this to you?' he asks, but all she hears is the promise that this voice once made to her.

' _We will find a way, Elena.'_

It can't be him, she knows, but hope—hope is a treacherous poison that she finds suddenly running in her veins to reach her frozen heart, making it beat faster in anticipation.

It can't be him?

She saw him fall to his death when—

'I know you're awake,' he says as she feels him sit beside her head.

She smells paints and clay and turpentine and it is all so familiar that her treacherous eyes open on their own accord.

What is this?

He still looks the same. The same blue black hair, eyes the color of summer sky, skin the same pale color for which she used to tease him once, familiar claret lips that she remembers staring at, dreaming about.

'Who are you?' she asks in a trance.

She is sure she is dead, for he can't be alive.

Is this the respite her head is going to give her before she is thrust back into her immortal body, her broken psyche?

'I don't know,' he says. 'They call me Pygmalion.'

Damon. She wants to scream. His name is Damon. Her Damon. Damon who died when her father pushed him off from the highest tower of Athens.

One crime for which she can never forgive herself or her father. A crime for which she has paid thousand fold, and yet, here he stands, hale and whole, the same kindness in his eyes, the same smile on his lips.

'Damon,' she whispers. 'I'll call you Damon.'

Maybe he doesn't listen, or maybe he doesn't care. He leaves a bowl of liquid by her side and gets up to walk out of her sight.

The feverish dreams claim her again. Her eyes close and she is again in the labyrinth, running away from the center, towards the opening she can never find…

* * *

 _She catches the eye of Niklaus of Aegean in the Athenian court where she sometimes makes an appearance to persuade her father to leave behind the higher intellectual pursuits and relegate his attention to ordinary things such as eating._

 _She knows they whisper about her in the court and in the corridors of the palace. Goddess, they call her. Reborn Athena, reincarnated Aphrodite._

 _She scoffs when she hears them talk, when they lower their eyes in reverence when she passes. For she knows she is no divine being. She has no virtues, no cruelty that gods call their own. She is a simpler creature, one whose world revolves around reading and taking care of her genius, albeit forgetful father._

 _But their whispers aren't too far off the mark. She may not be an actual goddess, but she's the daughter of a god._

 _A very important god._

 _One who calls all the riches beneath this earth his own, one whose lordship extends over all souls when they leave their mortal shells, one who calls death his own, one who sometimes calls on his only progeny to alleviate the loneliness of his underworld court._

 _Hades is his name. The god who fell in love with her mother, a Nexonian princess and claimed her for his bride on the promise that she won't try to look at his face. He came to her in the darkened night and tried to love her as much as his frozen heart was capable of._

 _But humans, they are always curious about the things that are forbidden to them, aren't they? Her mother too chanced a peek at his face one dark night when he'd been sleeping, frightened off by the tales of her monstrous husband that her sisters often whispered in her ears._

 _A drop of wax from the lamp fell on the god's cheek and he vanished, leaving behind her mother who'd already been pregnant with her, discarding her for all her days to come._

 _She's inherited her frozen heart from him._

 _A heart incapable of feelings._

 _So, when Niklaus of Aegean chances a peek at her, the luminous maiden that people whisper to be a goddess, he wants her for his own. His priests, they whisper in his ears, she could bring the wealth back to his land._

 _She dislikes Niklaus of Aegean. He stares far more invasively than he has right to. He looks at her as if she's something to eat, to devour. She dislikes being ogled like one would a broodmare. She often hides in the library to escape his roving gaze._

 _And it is one such occasion when she meets him—her Damon._

* * *

When awareness returns to her, she finds her eyes opening to the dark. The night has fallen. She can smell the heat slowly leaving the leaves outside this hut to form drops of dew. She remains immobile and tries to take deep breaths to assess her recovery.

Breathing no longer hurts too much.

She moves her fingers, gauges the state of her bones.

The area around her remains dark.

Where is he? Did she conjure him again as she had all those times before in the labyrinth?

She might have, she decides. After all, she's afflicted with her godly father's ennui and madness.

She pushes against her bed of softness and sits up. There is nothing much to look around save for walls of dried soil and thatch. The only soft thing inside this barren space is the fox pelt on which she has been sleeping since she was brought to this place.

She tries to stand up, unaware that muscles in her leg are still torn, the bones still new and weak from regeneration. She falls. It is not unexpected. What comes as a surprise to her own self is the cry of pain that escapes past her lips.

This pain is nothing like the pain she received daily at the hands of Niklaus and his priests. Flashes of scorpion stings, gleaming bronze daggers and scores of fire ants rush past her eyes. She wonders why she screamed right now.

Is it because she hopes he would come running to check up on her—her Damon?

And he does.

In the darkness that she has learned to fear during her stay in the labyrinth, his strong arms encompass her frail self. He picks her up and lays her back on the fur.

'Don't try walking yet,' he says gruffly. 'You'll only hurt yourself.'

His eyes may not see her face properly in this shadowed corner, but she sees him. Her demi-god eyes, she's never been thankful for them but she's now.

Dust clings to his hair which flops on his brow; drops of sweat have made a trail from his forehead to the edge of his jaw. His blue eyes seem distracted and his mouth is pressed in the straight lines of irritation.

'I've work to do. Call for me if you need something.'

He walks away.

She just lies there and stares after him, still unsure whether he is real or a figment of her imagination.

* * *

 _The library of the Athenian palace is a sacred place. Nobody dares enter it for variety of reasons. Some say goddess Aphrodite cursed a maiden who eschewed her worship and decided to spend all her time amid rolls of papyrus that detail the works of historians of repute such as Armathas and Orier. Some say Artemis beheads any man who enters its halls for this was the place where the rogue who chanced a peek at Artemis' naked form took refuge. Others fear the wrath of Apollo and many cower at the prospect of offending Zeus._

 _Elena has no such fears. Her father Hades' wrath keeps her safe from the eyes of all her godly relatives._

 _And so, she often hides in the library, and loses herself in a tale of courage and ambition or frustrates herself while trying to understand the working of one of her father's numerous creations._

 _She has never chanced a peek at any other being in this place. No god, no human or a being from underworld._

 _So, it comes as a surprise when she finds her usual place occupied by a male deep in thought while he gazes at a lone peacock feather._

' _How can these be eyes?' he asks._

 _She is stumped._

 _Without turning in her direction, he beckons her closer. She can do nothing but do as he silently commands. The force of his bizarre behavior has erased her normal response in situations such as these._

' _See the brilliance of colors?' he asks. 'The indigo and the green? And that sheen of copper and yellow? No eyes have so many colors.'_

' _These are the eyes of Argus, of Hera's faithful giant, hundred in numbers, so that he could keep Io away from Zeus,' she blurts._

' _See that's the story, but do you really think that's what happened?'_

' _Yes,' she answers immediately. 'My father Hades says Aunt Hera is generous when it comes to those who serve her.' The moment the sentence is out of her mouth, she claps a hand on her mouth to shut herself up. She's never told anyone about her godly father before. People hazard guesses and they whisper, but nobody knows that she really is the offspring of a deity._

 _She can't believe her stupidity. Why did she say all that?_

 _Is it because he looks like the statues that her uncle Hephaestus carves in his moments of peace and gifts to her father? Beautiful perfect beings with kind eyes and an easy grin?_

' _Hades, eh? I'm Damon, and one of my ancestors I believe was the son of Athena.'_

 _Years from now on, she's still going to remember the massive stone pillars with leaves carved at the base, one that she's been staring at to avoid looking at him. She's going to remember the way sunlight filters in from the lattices and dust motes play in it jubilantly. She's also going to remember the way he steps in her line of sight and she's forced to gaze at his face, in his blue eyes._

' _Do you often come here?' his lips are curved in a smirk and she deduces that he's the kind of male that her aunts have warned her about, ones who steal your heart when you aren't looking, but before this day she has never had any reason to listen to her aunts harp about males and their desires because of her adamant belief that she lacks a heart._

 _That non-existent heart is pounding in her chest and she feels warm all over as if she's taking a bath in warm springs._

' _I'm Elena,' she hears herself whisper shyly. 'And I'm always here…'_

* * *

When her eyes open again, it is morning. She can feel the heat of sun from behind her closed eyelids.

'You need to eat this,' he says as he comes near her soft bed, holding a steaming bowl. He smells like trees and dew, like sunlight and warm stone.

His blue eyes twinkle when she meets his gaze.

'You never did tell me your name,' he says.

'Elena,' she squeaks.

With a smirk he leaves the concoction for her and walks out. He seems different in the light of the day. Younger, relaxed and having no memories of her at all.

If this all is real—she still believes that this is one elaborate dream created by Morpheus to trap her in sleep but still—then she is certain he is her Damon.

He can be no one else.

This time when she laboriously sits up, there is no one to caution her to not get up. She plants her feet on the ground and tentatively puts her weight on her legs. She stumbles and pain shoots up from the base of her feet to the very tip of her fingers, but she endures it. Walking takes deep breaths and painful grunts on her part, but she persists.

When she walks out of her temporary place of stay, green is all she can see.

Tall, thick, brown trunks of trees that look ancient and their branches reaching up to heavens, adorned with leaves old and new, flowers of soft white and yellow. The grass at the base of their roots gleams when sunlight filters through canopy, falling on perfect drops balanced precariously on the steep, sharp edges.

He is polishing a stone in the light of the sun, the movement of his hand rhythmic and certain as if he has done this thousand times before. Surprisingly, his gaze is not on the subtle luminous surface of the basalt, but at the distant trees that sway slightly on the song of the wind.

She should go back inside. He looks lost in his thoughts and somehow it seems an imposition to intrude upon him and his thoughts.

She takes a step back and his head suddenly moves in her direction.

'Elena?'

The way he says her name is so reminiscent of the scant days she desperately wants to relive again that she is robbed of her voice. He is her Damon. And he is calling her name again.

He is not dead at the base of the tower, his body broken like one of her father's inventions. He is her Damon, and he is somehow alive.

'Would you like to join me?' he asks.

She nods for she doesn't trust her mouth to not utter something stupid…

* * *

 _She meets him in secret, in the alcoves where dust clings to ancient tomes and the rustle of papyrus whispers about dark, dangerous secrets. In the beginning, it is innocent—the curiosity they feel about each other. Days pass in blur, in euphoria of having someone else with whom they can discuss things they've read about, or things they find irrational and weird._

 _A touch on palm, a stray tendril pushed behind her ear, a lingering gaze on her part—it's all innocent in the very beginning. But as days pass and Niklaus of Aegean shows more interest in her, she finds herself escaping the court to hide in the library where she knows Damon will be waiting for her._

 _Her father is too enamored with the sadistic ruler of Aegean and his quick, glib tongue to see beneath the façade Niklaus projects. Ego and pride have always been her parent's glaring faults and she has never hated his mortal shortcomings until now._

 _The chance to design the world's most intricate labyrinth for Niklaus of Aegean is a chance her father can't pass. He spells it out for her in clear terms. She listens to him and nods once in acquiescence before retreating to her chambers._

 _Her father departs for Aegean the same night._

 _From the very next day, she dutifully entertains Niklaus of Aegean and his cronies, playing the submissive, obedient daughter. The complain of discomfort never passes her lips when Niklaus holds her a little too tightly, when he roughly pinches her skin when no one's looking when she refuses to let him taste her lips._

 _She stops going to the library._

 _She won't show her face to Damon, she decides, until she's worked off the debt she owes her father for rearing her._

 _She can't let him see how pathetic she truly is, how mortal, despite being a god's daughter…_

* * *

The sun is slowly sinking beneath the horizon.

They are still sitting amid the pieces of stone.

'You should go inside,' he says suddenly, turning in her direction, looking at her with an unexplained emotion in his eyes.

'It's not too cold yet,' she deflects. She wants to stick by his side. Even if this is a dream, she is happy to be in his company.

'Who are you?' he questions after moments of companionable silence. His question isn't accusatory, but her heart speeds up in dread. Will he tell her to leave his sight if she reveals her identity?

'I'm E-Elena,' she answers hesitantly.

'A goddess?' he counters.

She lowers her eyes, bracing herself for the demands, and the greedy aspirations that often follow the assumptions.

'You were bleeding gold. You have to be careful in these parts. Mortals have turned savage in absence of miracles…'

And that is it. He doesn't say another word on the topic and they sit in silence, watching the sun set, painting the erstwhile blue sky with pink, orange and yellow.

She's never before seen such beautiful sunset.

'I don't remember my nights,' he says suddenly. She looks at him in confusion for she doesn't understand what he means.

'When sky turns Prussian and daughters of Eos light up the sky, I go to sleep and he awakens…'

* * *

 **It's a two shot and pretty weird. I thank you for reading my bizarre words…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 _ **Angel, I prayed**_

 _ **Prayed to you for vengeance…**_

* * *

She hides in the shadow and watches as he lights up the fire and arranges the flaming torches around a piece of marble carefully shrouded in muslin. She is curious about his parting statement, one which he refused to explain before he sent her inside to rest for the night after extracting a promise that she wouldn't seek him out in the shadows.

He seems feverish in his haste. He arranges the sharp carving tools in front of him before lifting the veil from a partially carved face.

 _It's her._

She bites her lips to stifle the sound of her desperate happiness and confusion. He gently caresses the smooth cheeks and closed eyelids.

'Elena…'

There is so much longing and pain in the way he utters her name that she almost finds it soothing. He remembers. He has to. No man longs for a woman whom he can't recall. Soon, the sound of chisel striking the marble is a lullaby that lulls her into sleep.

Hiding behind the door of the room where he continues to struggle with the unyielding stone, she closes her eyes in peace and dreams about Olympus…

* * *

The very moments that her eyes behold the splendor of the golden palace in the sky, she knows that she is in Apollo's domain. It's not morning yet. Soon, he will make his way in the sky on his chariot, accompanied by Eos, bringing light to the mortals who reside below, over the skin of Gaia.

She walks slowly towards the entrance where she can see him standing, waiting for her.

It has been years since Apollo pulled her into a dream to talk. He is few of her godly relatives who even deign to associate with her.

'Little Elena!' he calls jovially. 'Are you not happy?'

'Happy?'

'I saved him. Are you not happy?'

She looks at him and wonders if he even understands what he is asking from her. Is she happy?

What exactly is happiness?

She has forgotten all the proper emotions a human is supposed to have in that labyrinth. Now, there is only wonder and despair, the twins that are left behind from the vast family of emotions she once had. She fluctuates between the two.

'Poor, Elena! Did he not come to save you, your godly father?'

She looks at his golden perfection and wonders if cruelty comes easily to gods. It must. Does he not know that Hades never came to rescue her from her hell? Every divine being knows. The naiads, the dryads, the minor goddesses, and even the Bacchus priestesses know.

Does Apollo want to see how much the answer to his question hurts?

'No, he didn't,' she says simply, face devoid of despair, one of the two emotions she's left with.

Apollo stares at her as if he's peeling back the layers of skin to read her, to look into her muscles and her bones to see if the labyrinth left any mark beneath the flawless skin. He smiles after moments pass, satisfied.

'I saved your Damon,' he says again.

'Thank you,' she says and tilts her head slightly to convey respect, for this is what he wants, doesn't he?

Her respect. Her gratitude.

'Of course, I had to partially take his memories away, for Nyx wanted his life as a recompense for the embarrassment he caused to her descendent, the Aegean king Niklaus, but I saved him, made sure that he lived.'

Vengeance for embarrassment caused to Niklaus? Her fingers curl in her palm. Gods truly do represent the worst vices of humanity, don't they? She wonders what satisfaction Goddess Nyx must have had from her torture and Damon's near death.

'Do you remember the partridge, Elena?'

 _The jeering guards chasing her in the narrow tunnels…the voices…sinister mad whispers of all who perished before her…call of a perdix…leading her away from her chasers…the voices…Damon whispering in her ears…we will find a way, Elena…_

She averts her face to compose herself.

'He was the partridge, Elena, roaming the skies above the labyrinth, waiting for you…'

A moment is all it takes for her to grab him by his throat. She squeezes and he chokes.

'What did you do?' she snarls. Gods never do anything for anyone without an ulterior motive. Her own father let her be born in this cruel world so that she could ease his loneliness whenever he so desired. There's always a catch with the gods, always the fine print they would like you to ignore.

She forces Apollo on his knees. He may be the sun god, but she's the daughter of the Hades who was forced to channel primordial chaos in that labyrinth, day after day, night after night.

'What did you do, Helios?' she calls him by his ancient name, the name mortals don't use anymore, the name that represents that once, he was a mere symbolic deity and nothing else.

'I saved him,' he wheezes.

'And what price did you demand? What did you took from him?'

Her nails are digging in his skin, the gold slowly filling the crescent indents. He's starting to glow subtly. The morning is fast approaching.

'What did you take from him?' she roars.

'His memories and his love…'

Shock makes her stumble. Her hold loosens. He breaks free.

 _Her Damon…is he gone?_

'From morning till sunset, he will have no memories of you, no love that was once only yours...'

She looks at him in disgust, this god who thinks he performed a miracle. She can bind him; stop the morning from ever replacing the night, she thinks.

'Only your heartbreak stays my hand from punishing you for this sacrilege that you just committed, Elena,' he drawls.

She eyes him, this overconfident, selfish god who had to take something from a man already dying to perform his miracle. Anger rises from the pit of her stomach and she tastes the rust of blood in her mouth, warm and salty, and so very familiar.

She closes her eyes and opens her mind and body once again for the great god of pit who hides in Gaia's belly.

It is pain and it is ecstasy. It is the sharp coldness that somehow feels like warmth.

This time there are no priests holding her down, forcing her to receive the essence of Khaos, the first god from whom sprung all the gods and the titans, giants and demons.

Damon. Once she is through with Apollo, she can forever be with Damon.

She feels her limbs twisting and her consciousness curling in a corner to save itself from the madness of Khaos.

She feels him eating up her soul till she can't tell if she is Elena or Khaos.

She opens her eyes and the world, the world is a swirling landmass of colors she can arrange on her whim. She turns her head to look at the man who calls himself the sun god.

'Weakling,' she hisses in the ancient tongue. 'How many worship you today?'

Apollo rears back in shock, his eyes going wide.

'Elena!'

'Have you forgotten me, Helios?' she sings. 'Have you forgotten the parts in which you cut me along with your brethren and hid me in Gaia's womb?'

'It can't be,' Apollo whispers.

'You left this godling to rot, Helios. They broke her enough so that she could receive me. Isn't she the perfect vessel? The death god's daughter?'

Apollo starts backing away, making her smile. How easy it is to scare the gods.

She breaks her chest and reaches into it to gather some of the essence. Her hands twist over the swirling darkness and soon, she is holding chains in her hands that won't break, that won't rust or be broken by any godly hand but her own.

Apollo starts to run and she laughs.

For once, it doesn't hurt to indulge in Khaos's madness. She twists one end around her wrist and moves the chain in a great arc over her head, letting her weapon find its mark.

Apollo's howls start as soon as the shadows touch his skin. She gleefully runs in a circle around him till he resembles a godly moth in a shadowed cocoon of chains, only his head left free, so that he can shriek and shout for help to his heart's content, so that all those high and mighty gods come and fail to break him out.

She drags him to the stairs of his palace and dumps him there.

'Now, morning will never come, Apollo,' she says with a soft smile on her face even as Khaos slowly seeps out of her body. 'Now, Damon will never forget me. He will always love me…'

* * *

 **This is getting weirder by every sentence. Was supposed to be a two short, but now only Elena knows how long this is gonna go. I might not be able to update till 20** **th** **December because of my exams**. **So, how have you all been? I was beyond moon when I read all of your reviews. Keep them coming. Pretty please?**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

 _ **New dawn took life**_

 _ **from the dead night…**_

* * *

When she returns, he's still hard at work. The sound of chisel and hammer, of stone breaking in face of his strength is audible. She pauses at the threshold of his workspace and admires his form.

If she were capable, she would immortalize him in stone.

Strong, broad shoulders that move as he repeatedly strikes the stone to give it a desired form, the muscles at his back that bunch at the constant motion, his long fingers that hold the chisel surely, his profile that is reminiscent of a beautiful masculinity of the days of old…

How picturesque is he, her Damon!

She takes a deep breath and tries to calm her racing heart. This time when he turns, he will know her. She doesn't know why she feels this fear. After all, he's the man for whom she stopped the dawn, chained the sun god so that the day won't ever come.

Should she go to him or should she wait for him to turn?

As she stands watching, he slowly gives shape to the stone, the curve of her lips opening in a mysterious smile.

Tired, and soaked in sweat, he puts down his tools to stretch his aching fingers.

The tips of his fingers and his knuckles are raw, skin torn at places, flesh peeking from behind the curtain of dried blood.

Before she can consciously make a decision whether to go to him or call out his name, her feet are moving in his direction, her eyes rapt at his battered hands. The sounds of her footsteps alert him and he stills, making her stop in the process.

It feels like an age before he turns.

She sees everything in slow motion, his turning head, his eyes that go wide before he closes them, the breath that he forgets to take, his hands that curl in a fist…

'Damon…'

Her whisper echoes in that silence. She feels terrified and yet elated. Were she to die in this moment, she would die gladly, with a smile on her face for he is here. She can see him before her eyes close for eternity and her soul is banished to Tartarus.

'Demon, be gone,' he hisses. 'You can't tempt me with her face.'

Her heart stops for a moment and that moment feels endless when he raises his head and she gazes into his eyes. He truly thinks she is a creature of Underworld sent to taunt him.

What tribulations they put him through? What kind of enjoyment do the so-called gods take from this misery of a helpless man?

'Damon, how can these be eyes?' she says. 'How can eyes have so many colors?'

He continues to stare at her, disbelief and anger still in his eyes. She takes a step in his direction slowly, careful not to startle him.

'These are the eyes of Argus, of Hera's faithful giant, hundred in number so that he could guard Io, keep her away from Zeus…' she repeats the answer she gave an eternity ago, trying to make him remember, trying to make him believe that she is his Elena.

'Go away,' he says tiredly, closing his eyes. 'You always say the same things, but you are not her. You are the phantom Nemesis sends to torture me, to remind me that my Elena has been banished to a place from where no one returns…'

She falls to her knees at his declaration, screaming in rage and pain. 'I am Elena,' she sobs. 'Your Elena. Please, Damon…'

He turns away, away from her to his unfinished replica of her.

'I will finish this statue,' he says firmly. 'And when I do, Aphrodite has promised me she will bring it to life. She will bring Elena to life…'

Oh, her poor Damon. Just like her, he's trying to cling to memories, the only things they have of one another, of that brief, innocent romance that could have been so much more had she not been who she is, had he not been who he is.

But she is her father's daughter—cruel, heartless and ruthless. Part god and part human, hanging on the precipice of both worlds but never belonging anywhere. He was the first person who gave her a semblance of belonging, with whom she thought it won't be too difficult to be different. And now, those rotten beings who sit in Olympus, who think it is very amusing to play with the life of mortals have taken one thing, one thing that made her endure that labyrinth.

'Will that stone truly be your Elena?' she asks softly. 'Will it have her memories, her dreams, her pain?'

He stills. His hands stop.

'Will that stone know how fast your heart beats when your Elena looks at you and smiles?'

He turns to face her, brows drawn together in confusion.

'That stone you so religiously carve hasn't felt the pain of losing your love. That stone doesn't know how it feels to be hungry, to be so hungry that you eat the vermin crawling in your prison, that you tear off the fungi and the grass on the walls and eat them to calm the fire in your belly. That stone Aphrodite promised to bring to life won't be your Elena. It would just be a fantasy, a cruel dream that will shatter as soon as it comes to life…'

'At least, it would be better than having nothing,' he replies hopelessly.

'Gods never grant wishes without taking something from you. What will they take now, Damon? What will Aphrodite take from you in return for making that stone a flesh and blood woman?' she questions harshly. 'You've already lost your days. Tell me, Damon where do you go in the morning?'

His eyes widen at her question, confusion and distress already clear on his face. Uncaring, she presses on, somewhat cruelly.

'Apollo took your days away. Took Elena away from your heart when the sun shines,' she tells him bitterly.

'No, you're lying,' he says. 'Apollo saved me. He saved me when…when…'

'When my father pushed you off the palace tower while I stood watching,' she completes brokenly.

'I remember everything so clearly,' she confesses listlessly. 'Even though years have gone by, I still remember it as if it happened yesterday. Time has not dulled my memories. I see you falling every day, every minute, every second…'

He is silent and looking at her as if he can't understand what she is saying.

'The gods didn't save you Damon,' she whispers. 'They punished you. They punished me. We are nothing more than two puppets being played for their enjoyment. Our love, our separation, our pain—it's nothing but a source of amusement to them.'

She can't see him clearly. He appears distorted from behind the tears that have filled her eyes. She blinks, and they roll down her cheek, the tears that she sheds only for him, only for them.

He is Damon, close, so close and yet so far.

She should've made her way to Nemesis after she had been done with Apollo. She is too tired to host Khaos now, too poor to give him the tribute he desires for being summoned. There is no rage left, only misery, only this painful thing that optimists call love, something that Khaos has no use of.

The tears keep falling. They are making up for all that time she kept them from escaping her eyes.

Her lids are closed, head hanging in defeat when she feels his fingers on her cheek. She keeps herself from reacting lest this is another cruel illusion.

'Are you truly my Elena?' he asks timidly and fresh sobs break free from her throat.

She wants to touch him and yet she curls her fingers in the dirt to stop herself from touching him. For if she touches him, she won't be able to survive without him this time around.

'Are you truly her?' he asks again, a little more sure as his fingers move over her closed lids, over her sealed lips.

'You feel like her, you look like her, you talk like her. Are you really her?'

She kisses his fingers in response, opens her eyes and raises her hand to touch his skin tentatively.

But before she can, an arrow embeds itself into her back…

* * *

The moment the arrow pierces her body, she lurches forward and his strong hands keep her from falling flat on her face. She sees his eyes changing, the recognition flaring in their depths. Amid the burning pain, she smiles.

He knows her now.

Finally, he remembers and he knows.

Her Damon, he knows.

'Elena?' he whispers painfully, his face inches from hers as he stares down, into her eyes.

'Damon,' she sighs happily as another arrow follows suit and buries itself beside its brother.

'You go too far, daughter of Hades,' thunders the goddess at her back, pulling the string of her silver bow, notching the golden arrows.

The goddess Artemis. Apollo's twin sister, here to avenge her brother's humiliation, here to end her so that the new day can begin.

So, this is how her end has come, she thinks. Dying by a goddess' hand, being hunted like an animal despite there being a law in Olympus proclaiming that no god will take life of another demigod save for the godly parent.

She raises her hand at last to touch his cheek and warm tears wet her fingers.

'We were happy in that library, weren't we, Damon?' she asks tearfully.

'Yes,' he sobs and pulls her into his chest.

Artemis lets her arrow fly. It pierces her heart from the back, exits and imbeds itself into his flesh.

His body jerks, but his hands tighten and she howls in rage.

She struggles to push him away from her, for she knows this is what the Goddess wanted, but his hold is strong.

'You had promised me a kiss, Elena,' he whispers as another arrow tears open his flesh near his shoulder.

Fresh tears fall from her eyes for days that had not imagined the horror of their budding love. Isn't it strange that they haven't even shared a kiss?

He moves her head gently despite the burn and the pain coursing his body. Reverently, he presses his lips against hers and closes his eyes.

The final arrow whizzes from the bow and finds its mark.

It enters her body and exits through his.

New dawn breaks over as they die, as she dies and Apollo is freed…

* * *

She stands before her father in the underworld, ready to be judged. She knows she will be banished to Tartarus, her soul fed to the dungeon where the most wicked of demons are sent, the dungeon that holds all the banished Titans.

'Elena, Daughter of Hades, you have sinned,' her father states gravelly. Seated on his high throne of bones, diamonds and onyx, his face is devoid of any emotion. She is long past the time when she wanted to shake her father and ask him why he had left her in that labyrinth where all who went never returned. She bows down her head and stares at her bare feet. She will accept whatever punishment he awards her. She survived labyrinth.

How hard an eternity without Damon in the underworld can be?

She smiles at the irony of her own thoughts.

'Elena,' he calls out her name and she is forced to look up.

She can see herself in his face. The shape of her nose and her lips, the color of the eyes…

She is his daughter, through and through.

She…

The doors of his hall swing open and in walk three men with disgruntled faces.

'Lord Hades, this is against the rules of the underworld,' the first man says with a creepy smile on his face, eyeing Elena. 'We judge the dead, my lord.'

She looks at her father and sees his eyes narrow and lips roll back to expose sharp, white teeth.

'I'm aware, Minos.'

'Then you must know, my lord, that you can't grant her entry to Elysium just because she is your daughter. Now, for a soul like her, the Mourning Field is the just place,' Minos continues, unaware of the gleam of anger shining in her father's eyes.

Elysium? She wants to laugh.

Don't these so-called wise men know her father?

He knows no mercy. Had he known the emotion, he would've saved her from her prison.

If he has his way, she will stand for an eternity in the field where all souls wail for their unrequited love. If he has his way, she will listen to the haunting tales of their unfulfilled love for years and years to come.

'What is it to be, Lord Hades?' she asks finally, growing tired of the bickering. 'What is to be my punishment?'

Her father looks at her as if she's hurt him, as if calling him by his name is somehow insulting. Did he really expect that she would call him father? After all that has happened?

' _Gods are all the same, godling,_ ' Khaos hisses in her ears and she looks around in surprise. Has he escaped the pit?

But there is no one around save for the Judges of the dead and the Lord of the Underworld.

' _Why don't you take what you desire, godling?_ ' the voice questions again. ' _Why don't you summon me?_ '

But how can she? She has no body. She is just a spirit, a spirit awaiting her punishment.

' _Do you think Artemis would be punished for what she did?_ '

And the question shocks her. ' _Why don't you ask your father what punishment Artemis will receive, or Apollo, or Nemesis for that matter?'_

And so she does. Asks her father about Artemis and her sin and receives an answer she expected which still hurts her no less.

'Goddess Artemis will reflect upon her actions…'

She will reflect upon her actions? Elena laughs in bewilderment and pain, in rage that is slowly awakening inside her.

He is her father and he will do nothing to avenge her wrongful death. She deserved punishment for chaining Apollo, but she didn't deserve death. He, her godly parent, would do nothing; demand no punishment for her killer.

How expendable she is, isn't she?

' _Why don't you call for me now, godling?_ ' Khaos sibilates lovingly. ' _I'll help you escape this prison alongside your love…'_

She knows his desperation. This old primordial who has been caged for as long as the human memory serves—he wishes to escape this place just as desperately as she does. He wishes to live, just as she does.

But summoning him would mean sharing her body, sharing it for eternity, for as long as they exist outside the underworld. She would live a half life.

But it would be life.

' _With Damon.'_

'Khaos,' she screams, willing her spirit to merge with his essence.

He invades her being like the sweetest of pain, an old friend she is glad to meet again.

He fashions a body for her spirit, one that looks exactly like her demigod shell.

' _Isn't this lovely, godling?_ ' he whispers in her head before fading away, before hiding deep into her psyche.

She doesn't wait for the reactions, for the scream of fury or terror. She dematerializes from Hades' hall and appears on the edge of fields of Asphodel.

Millions of souls stand in that dry, barren land, staring into distance lifelessly, just standing and staring. They are all colorless, punished to a monotonousness they don't know what to do with.

She spots him easily. Even banished to this infernal place, he is still who he is. She wonders who decided to send him to the fields of Asphodel, for he is not a soul who didn't do anything of merit in his life. He is not someone who just existed.

He is trying to hold a conversation with Sisyphus who is pushing a boulder diligently atop a hill.

'Damon,' she calls out and watches his eyes flicker around to find the source of the sound. It lands on her instantly, for she is color in this colorless plane.

He runs to her and she opens her arms.

When his lips press against her lips and his hands pull her closer to his body, she sighs.

He is gaining color.

The essence of Khaos is creating a body for him.

' _Aren't you thankful, godling?'_

She is, she thinks as they dematerialize from underworld to appear on the surface world again. She is so happy that she isn't even worried about the tributes Khaos is going to demand in the future…

* * *

 **And so it ends…**

 **I'm sleepy yet hungry, waiting for my breakfast, and so I'm not making much sense even to myself. I loved your reviews. They motivated me to study hard.**

 **I love you, period. I'm off to stuffing my face with food…**


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